ACT IV. SCENE continues.
Lady Rodomont, and Mrs. Lovejoy.
Mrs. Lov. Why, Madam, shou'd your Ladyship keep so many Fellows in suspence, is it only to mortifie other Women, and maintain the Vanity of being universally admir'd; you won't marry, and yet love to be courted: In other matters your Ladiship's gen'rous enough, but as for parting with your Lovers, you are as stingy as the Widow Scrape-all, that lets out her Mourning-Coach to Funerals.
La. Rod. Cozen, we're alone, and I'll discover t' you the Soul of ev'ry Woman: Vanity is the predominant Passion in our Sex, what Lady that has Beauty, Wit and Fortune, does not excel in Dress, brighten in Talk, and dazle in her Equipage; and Lovers are but Servants out o' Liveries: Who then that has Attractions to command, to sooth, to frown, to manage as we please, wou'd raise those crawling Wretches that adore us, that fawn and sigh, and catch at ev'ry Glance, but once embolden'd, as our Courage fails us, the flatt'ring Knaves exert their Sovereign Sway, and crush the darling Pow'r we possess.
Mrs. Lov. 'Tis their Prerogative to rule at last, our Reign is short, because 'tis too Tyrannical; we're pleas'd to have Admirers gaze upon us, they're pleas'd with gazing, 'cause they cannot help it; but yet they think us strange fantastick Creatures, and curse themselves for loving such vain Toys; for my part, I'm for ballancing the pow'r of both Sexes, if a fine Gentleman addresses a fine Lady, his Reception ought to be suitable to his Merit, and when two fine People get together—
La. Rod. What then?
Mrs. Lov. They ought to lay aside Affectation and Impertinence, and come to a right understanding i' th' matter.
La. Rod. But prithee, my Dear, what fine Things d'you conceive there are in Love?
Mrs. Lov. I wou'd conceive what fine Things there are in Love; in short, Madam, you may dissemble like the French Hugonots, that were starving in their own Country, and pretended to fly hither for Religion: But I that have the same Circulations with your Ladiship, know that ev'ry Woman feels a Je ne sçay quoy for an agreeable Fellow; nay more, that Love is irresistable; how many Fortunes have marry'd Troopers, and Yeomen o'the Guard? We are all made of the same Mould; nay I heard of a Lady that was so violently scorcht at the sight of a handsome Waterman, she flung her self sprawling into the Thames, only that he might stretch out his Oar, and take her up again.
La. Rod. There are Women Fools to a strange degree; but have you,
Cousin, seen any Object so amiable to merit that ridiculous Condescension.